Toby Fisher and the Arc Light

by Ian McFarlane

  Toby looked at Arty over the top of his paper: The Tintagel Post. He had an idea of what was troubling Arty and he thought it was to do with two elves that had mocked him for wanting to join the Untouchables. ‘You’re too short to be of elven stock,’ they had said, laughing.

  Toby flicked his paper to make a noise. He’d seen some of the commuters in London do it. It sounded funny to him. Arty glanced up, looking miserable.

  ‘A penny for your thoughts,’ said Toby.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘My friend Charlie used to say “a penny for your thoughts” when I was thinking deeply and she wanted to know what I was thinking.’

  ‘I was thinking about the Untouchables.’

  Toby smiled in a knowing kind of way.

  ‘I won’t be able to get into them. I’m not all elven for a start.’ The Untouchables were the special investigation force; a secret arm of the police. It was rumoured that only elves were recruited because they were brilliant at sneaking around and not leaving tell-tell signs of their visits such as footprints; people believed they made excellent spies.

  ‘I heard they had humans too, even half elves,’ said Toby, trying to cheer Arty up a bit. ‘Don’t give up.’

  ‘Yeah, I know but—’

  ‘If you need to say but then you’ll never do it. That’s what Charlie said anyway. But your luck’s in. They’ve just had a new vacancy here in Cornwall. Listen,’ said Toby with a slightly mischievous grin. He rustled the paper again and read out aloud:

  ‘Tintagel Post Exclusive: Massive Killer Explosion – West Country.

  ‘An Untouchable, whilst investigating a report of smuggling, foolishly lit his pipe whilst in close proximity to a recently confiscated cache of much-prized and highly inflammable bullophant dung. The violent explosion spread the poo across three counties with reports of some smouldering poo dollops landing in Ireland. The authorities have requested that the public return all remnants of the poo to the nearest police station at once. The police have so far been very disappointed with the response.

  ‘Local Tintagel resident, Mrs Miggans of Acre Lane, returned a handful, complaining, “It’s ruined my nice clean washing and my gloves.” Mr Mop, the renowned prize-winning vegetable grower, was recently awarded first prize for having the largest home-grown pumpkin seen in two centuries. Unfortunately, he and his strawberry growing neighbour were then arrested for fighting after Mr Crouch accused him of illegally using bullophant poo as fertilizer. It was noted that a seething Mr Crouch was out of town at the time of the bullophant poo explosion.

  ‘A monument will be erected on the Devon and Cornwall border in memory of the Untouchable who lost his life in service to this country. It will depict a pair of wellington boots and a smoking pipe because that was all that was left after the explosion. The monument will be funded by the Cornish Vegetable and Fruit Growers Association after a bumper crop year.

  ‘Non-smoking applicants are now being considered for the vacant post of Untouchable. Please note that Cornish vegetable and fruit growers need not apply.’

  The two boys rolled around with laughter.

  ‘How stupid can you get,’ shouted Arty in between bellyaching guffaws. ‘I don’t think I want to join now if they’re that stupid, thank you very much!’ Toby and Arty continued to laugh until it hurt. In fact they were so noisy Toby hardly heard the familiar voice at the door; it almost seemed to be a dream, a distant memory in the back of his mind.

  ‘Hello, Toby.’

  There was no mistaking the voice this time. He recognised it instantly and it wasn’t a memory. Toby stopped laughing so quickly it was as if someone had ripped out the laughing cords in his throat. He swivelled around in his chair and stared at the doorway. Arty continued to hold his stomach in hysterics; he apparently hadn’t noticed the new arrival. Toby’s eyes focused on the ghostly figure as she walked slowly forward.

  ‘Charlie!’ he cried out.

  Toby rocketed out of the chair. Charlie swung her arms around, holding him tight as tight could be. They didn’t move for ages. It was the deadening silence in the room that eventually broke their hold on each other. Arty wasn’t laughing anymore. In fact, he hadn’t moved from the settee at all, and looked frozen in a half-laughter-roll with his feet in the air. His mouth and his eyes were wide open, staring at Charlie.

  ‘G, g, ghost!’ He pointed at Charlie and his legs slowly dropped to the floor. He pushed himself back into the settee as far as he could possibly go.

  ‘You’ve seen ghosts before,’ said Toby.

  ‘Not close up,’ Arty said in a high-pitched squeal. ‘And it, it’s grabbed you.’

  Toby shrugged his shoulders. ‘This is my best friend from London. This is Charlie. And this is Arty, my new friend. My best Tintagel friend.’

  ‘Hello, Arty,’ said Charlie.

  Arty whimpered. His hand shot up and down in a brief and nervous hello. He swallowed deeply. ‘I’ve got some homework to do, or write a recipe or something,’ warbled Arty weakly as he clumsily got up and walked away from the settee as fast as he could. He disappeared upstairs. A bedroom door slammed shut.

  ‘I guess they don’t get ghosts here that often. I seemed to attract an awful lot of attention walking across the yard. How are you?’ asked Charlie.

  ‘You are really here, aren’t you? Have you come to take me back to London?’ asked Toby hopefully. Within seconds of Arty disappearing Toby had forgotten everything he had enjoyed about Tintagel. In those fleeting moments after saying ‘Have you come to take me back’ Tintagel village didn’t exist. The elves and the draconians were things he thought he had only read about in a book. Worst of all he probably wouldn’t even remember Arty’s name.

  Charlie had been very busy over the last couple of months. After the appearance of the general she had set into action a pre-agreed plan; a plan she and the professor had designed. The professor had gone into hiding. She didn’t know where and she had not tried to find him despite Black Bess’s tracking skills with the professor’s smelly hat. The most important thing was that Toby had to be protected at all costs. It had been such a long time since she and the professor had last discussed the plan she had almost forgotten about it. Charlie had given herself a hard time. She felt she had been very lackadaisical. She felt she should have seen it coming. With the professor gone it was now up to her.

  ‘Not just yet, Toby,’ she said, trying to sound as if it would soon be time for Toby to return.

  It felt great to see Toby again. She had missed him dearly. She realised she had taken a risk visiting him but she felt the risk was worth it. There was no way any spy could keep track of her and Black Bess.

  ‘I don’t want to be here. I want to be in London,’ said Toby angrily. He seemed shocked and confused by Charlie’s sudden appearance.

  ‘I’m sorry, Toby. I’m not going over that again. It’s important you stay here. It’s for your own safety. I’ve heard from the professor.’ She lied. ‘He says hello and will be in touch soon.’ Toby hugged Charlie tightly. She could feel the warmth of his body flow into hers. Charlie realised Toby didn’t want to let go, was desperate to hang on. It saddened her to think they had spent so much time apart but he would have to let go before he lost too much warmth. ‘I said I would come to see you. You see, London doesn’t hold me anymore. Now I’ve got my Bess I can travel anywhere to see you.’

  ‘Will you stay?’ said Toby’s muffled voice. His head was buried in her ghostly coat.

  ‘I would love to but me and Bess are hunting the general. We know more about him now and I think you could help us catch him.’

  She waited patiently for Toby to speak. He peeled himself away from Charlie and slumped down in the chair. Charlie followed him. She could see he was upset. She wondered now whether it had been a good idea to visit. She had no news to give him; all she wanted to do was see her favourite living human being. She missed him. She needed Toby to think everything was okay. She wanted Toby to feel that this was the best place for him, t
hat he needed to be here, protected from the general.

  The ghost’s ability to see back through the Arc Light had shocked the professor, and Charlie when she found out. They both realised that he had grown a lot stronger since the professor had seen him centuries before. Luckily for Toby, Tintagel was protected by ancient magic, Merlin’s magic, and it was impenetrable. The professor had also realised that people like the general had heard of the village and had been looking for it for centuries.

  An idea sprung into Charlie’s head so quickly it felt like someone had flicked a switch. ‘I need you to be a lookout for me, Toby. I need you to be a spy.’

  ‘A spy?’ gasped Toby. He said it out aloud to himself a couple more times. ‘A spy! Yeah, I could do that. Are there any other spies here? No? Excellent,’ he added enthusiastically, and then laughed.

  ‘What are you laughing at?’ asked Charlie with a grin.

  ‘Can I include Arty?’

  Charlie nodded in agreement.

  Toby leant closer and nodded conspiratorially. ‘Arty wants to join the Untouchables. I reckon a little bit of village spying would boost his chances. What d’you reckon?’ Charlie nodded with a big grin. ‘Right, what’s the plan?’

  ‘Well, the simple part is this,’ she said, leaning forward and lowering her voice to a whisper. ‘There are witches here in the village. If you see or hear of the name Griselda you’re to let me know—’

  ‘What – the Griselda . . .? Okay. And?’

  ‘I said earlier that you didn’t get ghosts here that often, remember?’

  Toby nodded.

  ‘It’s not true. There are quite a few here.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I’m a ghost. I saw them.’

  ‘You didn’t see the general?’

  ‘No, but that is where you can help. To any living creature a ghost can choose to be seen or not. It appears that the vast majority of ghosts here choose not to be seen. I want you to contact these ghosts, become their friend and ask them about the general. See what you can find out – see what he’s been up to these last few centuries. It may help a great deal.’

  ‘How do I see them?’

  ‘You already can see them. Just think of Tintagel as a very big Greasy Witch Café. You’ll see them.’ Charlie smiled.

  ‘Will Arty be able to see them?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said with uncertainty. ‘The most important thing is that you remain safe.’

  ‘But isn’t the general after the professor?’

  ‘Yes, but we believe he may try and find the village as well. It’s impossible for him to find this place but because he’s still roaming around you cannot go back to London. Not yet, at least.’

  16

  The Ghostly Paper Boy

  Charlie’s surprise but welcome visit had come and gone. She stayed for a week, spending most of the time with Toby, who showed her around the village, introducing her to creatures he knew. Charlie said she had never seen so many different creatures in one place. She had particularly liked Sid, the one-eyed squid, although she chose not to order the Crocodillos. Luckily Sid had a very rare ghost delicacy in stock, Whine Gums – a particularly ghoulish treat that whined like a wailing banshee when it wanted to be eaten. You could even set them to whine at a particular time by fiendishly twisting their necks (thirty degrees set the delay to one hour), which was strongly advisable given their penchant for sounding off noisily at the most inconvenient times. Charlie ordered three bags (it was all Sid had) and arranged for more to be delivered to London when they became available. It was the first time Toby had seen Sid smile; he seemed to like Charlie, but then again, who didn’t? Toby made more friends with Charlie around. Even the big growling girl troll, Lucy, who had arrived on the same plane as Toby, had smiled. Saying hello to her every day was a lot easier after that, something Arty had failed miserably in doing. Arty told Toby he thought she was a lumbering big pile of warty seaweed. He wouldn’t tell her that though.

  ‘I think you fancy her,’ said Toby, laughing. Arty seemed to get quite upset. He didn’t speak to Toby for a whole day after that.

  Arty had lost his fear of Charlie once he had learnt that ghosts did not suck your soul out of your body leaving an empty walking corpse. He said he didn’t recall where he got that story from.

  Toby was a lot more settled at Tintagel village now Charlie had been to visit. He would still have liked to hear from the professor but Charlie had said that was difficult if not dangerous. So Toby made himself busy looking for the ghosts. But he struggled to see them and was convinced they were avoiding him. Then one day he remembered how he had first seen Charlie. He had been playing with a piece of magenta-coloured plastic. It was a filter for a camera. He had held it up to his eye and saw Charlie sitting right next to him. He fell off the chair and broke the filter in two. He looked again with half of the filter over his left eye. And there she was, staring at him. But this time Toby could also see her with his right eye – it was faint but she was there. When he removed the filter she was still there. It was as if the filter had switched on a part in his brain to see things others could not.

  And with that fresh memory Toby went to find Witch Magenta, a very friendly witch who had just returned from the Pendle Solstice party in Lancashire.

  ‘Morning Magenta,’ he said, and she smiled warmly. ‘Did you enjoy the party?’ Magenta was her nickname because she wore some very cool-looking, circular magenta sun-glasses. The very things Toby needed to see ghosts with.

  ‘It was great until it got gatecrashed by a bunch of rowdy drunken wizards from Preston. Sparks of all colours were flying everywhere. It was like a bun fight at the OK Corral. We soon chased the beardy-weirdies off, though. There were a few scorched egos that night, I can tell you,’ she said, laughing.

  ‘Can I borrow your glasses?’ asked Toby without explanation. She handed them over willingly. It was almost as if she had been waiting for Toby to ask. He placed the glasses on and turned around. He laughed.

  Facing him were twenty-six ghosts, all of them waving at him. Some were laughing, some were smiling and some cheered. For a brief moment Toby thought he was back at the Greasy Witch Café. It gave him a warm fuzzy feeling inside. When he took the glasses off the ghosts were still there. He couldn’t have been happier.

  Toby had met with the ghosts on five separate occasions since then. Arty wouldn’t go; even one ghost was too much for him. Toby, on the other hand, had taken his role very seriously, meticulously recording each meeting in a little notebook to be reported back to Charlie. But so far nobody knew much about the general – any information of value wouldn’t have filled one piece of unused toilet paper. The general could have been anyone from the ghost of Friar Tuck to Sid’s dead octopus cousin. The fact of the matter was that no one knew anything about him, at least no one who had spoken to Toby.

  There was one ghost left in the village that Toby hadn’t seen yet, a young ghostly boy who buzzed around the village on a small pushbike with raised handlebars. He always seemed to be in a rush and never came to the meetings. One of the ghosts told Toby about him. Toby was quite keen to meet with him.

  And then one day he got his chance. A letter had arrived for Toby and who should deliver it but a ghostly paper boy on a small pushbike. Copies of The Tintagel Post overflowed out of his bag along with numerous letters, both ghostly and real.

  ‘Delivery for Master Toby Fisher,’ shouted the boy in a broad cockney accent. ‘Are you ’im?’ Toby nodded. ‘’Ere you go, mate,’ he shouted. He shouted a lot. He then leant forward and whispered. ‘It’s from Charlie. She wants to know how the investigations are getting on.’

  ‘How do you know?’ Toby challenged him sharply.

  ‘Oh, uhm, the letter fell on the floor open and I, err, saw the first couple of lines. Just by accident.’

  There was silence.

  Toby was not happy. In fact, he suddenly felt quite angry. This was the first letter Toby had received at the village. Its a
rrival should have been full of excitement and expectation: what it was about and who it was from. The delivery boy had just ruined it all in seconds.

  ‘She did finish the le’er by saying she would visit again in a month or so,’ said the boy clumsily.

  This time he had gone too far, and he seemed to know it. The delivery boy gulped as Toby’s fists tightened and his lips curled up like an angry lion. It was quite possible that steam was about to pour out of Toby’s ears at any moment now.

  Toby had been feeling frustrated that his investigations about the general had gone nowhere. The ghostly delivery boy had never attended the ghost meetings and now he was prying into Toby’s private mail. The fact that the precious letter was from Charlie made it tons worse. Toby was not one for losing his temper or for hitting someone but he was willing to make an exception with him!

  ‘Uhm,’ stuttered the boy. ‘Iknowsomethingaboutthegeneral.’

  He spoke so fast all Toby heard was ‘the general’, but it was enough.

  ‘What?’ growled Toby.

  ‘I’ve heard of him.’

  The ghostly delivery boy was almost pleading, clearly hoping this living human who could touch and hold ghosts would not punch him.

  It was like slowly releasing the pressure from a boiling pot of tea. Toby eased his clenching fists. He had been almost obsessive in trying to find out about the general – numerous meetings with the ghosts, spying missions hiding behind the last house near the stone arch making notes on who arrived and who left, listening in on other creatures’ conversations hoping for a snippet of information. He had even discovered a small book store called Read Yourself to Death – and Be Happy, owned, as it happened, by a ghost librarian. Toby had spent hours, even days flicking through books in the hope of finding something useful. Toby hated books. And he had found nothing for his troubles. He didn’t think asking anyone outside the ghost circle was a good idea.